The Brecon Beacons Horseshoe Ridge Walk

Despite my success with walking Pen y Fan, my obsession with the Pyreneés continues to escalate.  I need to be fit enough to be able to walk uphill for hours on end.  I’m not so concerned about coming down again, even though I read that, for many, the descent is worse.

I decide that I will definitely walk the Brecon Beacons Horseshoe Ridge Walk next Friday.  I worry, however, that my navigational skills are not the best.  Nik and I seem to manage to get spectacularly lost whenever we go walking together and this time I shall be alone.  I visit the Apple App Store and discover an offline walking map for the Brecon Beacons National Park, courtesy of JOMO Solutions Ltd.  Upon checking further, I discover to my delight that I can purchase a bundle of three apps which covers the Brecon Beacons National Park, Snowdonia National Park and the Pembrokeshire Coast Path.  As these are offline maps featuring GPS tracking it means that I don’t even have to worry about having any mobile signal.  This purchase also reaffirms my intention to walk up Snowdon before Nik and I go to the Lake District.  I have navigation now, so what could possibly go wrong?

The Brecon Beacons Horseshoe Ridge walk is a circular route of approximately 9 miles and, after ascending onto the Graig Fan Ddu ridge, covers four mountain peaks: Corn Du, Pen y Fan, Cribyn and Fan y Big.  I need to be fit enough to tackle this walk.  The National Trust website advises allowing 4-5 hours to complete it and I feel I shall need every one of those five hours, if not longer.  I decide to tackle the elliptical machine again.

I square up to the machine with hatred and with loathing.  Despite this, I know I must focus on my fitness régime and stick to my training plan (such as it is).  For eight minutes we do battle: I attack it and it attacks me back.  I certainly feel as though I am under assault.  Why do I find this so tough?  Eight minutes is nothing, after all.  Then I realise: I am bored and so I am finding it tedious.  The following day I turn on the radio.  What a transformation!  Eight minutes fly by without any effort at all.  By the end of the week I am achieving ten minutes.  Suddenly, the machine doesn’t seem so bad after all.  I wouldn’t regard it as a friend but at least now we are no longer enemies.

I look forward to Friday and it seems to arrive almost before I am fully prepared for it.  This time I do not need to activate my imagination; it really is a bright, warm, sunny day.  The downside is that thunder is forecast for later in the day so I have to ensure that I finish walking across the peaks before it starts rumbling and I pray also that the rain holds off.  Moreover, I am going to the Hay Festival in the evening, to see the comedian Bill Bailey, so I need to be returning home by 4pm.  If the time needed to complete the walk as advised on the National Trust website is optimistic I am in trouble.

My timescale is shot to pieces almost before I begin.  Unlike the previous week, I leave at 8am, as planned.  However, the drive to Taf Fechan car park is farther away than I believed.  Then, despite the advice from the Sat Nav, I begin to panic that I am in the wrong place.  The path up to the car park is steep and my little, low-slung, sporty coupé with its ridiculous, low-profile tyres is ill-suited to this style of road.  I arrive half an hour later than I had intended (I feel a pattern begin to emerge here.  If I keep arriving half an hour late when on El Camino I shall find myself without a bed as they’ll all be taken).  I cannot believe it – the army is here, too.  I wonder if they are following me around the Beacons, but then remember that they are here before me so technically I am following them.  This time, however, they are all coming towards the car park, evidently having completed their exercise for the day.

The path is easy to follow and, in the initial stages, level.  However, I have been walking for ten minutes only when I realise that I cannot remember the directions and so have to stop to check.  This does not augur well.  I pass through a gate and am faced with fields and mountains and not a path in sight.  I stop again and decide that the sheep track on the right-hand side looks to be the best route to follow.  Twenty steps later and I doubt my decision.  I sigh. At this rate I shan’t get to the ridge, let alone any of the summits.  I am hopeless.  I really shouldn’t be allowed out on my own.  Then I remember – I have my app!

I open the app and, indeed, it shows that I am on the wrong path.  I need the track to the left.  The app works.  Relief floods through me.  I walk with renewed vigour, even though my legs feel like lead.  Every step is a real effort this morning but I am determined to complete this walk.  As I start the ascent to Graig Fan Ddu Ridge I hear the gate close.  I turn around and see two walkers headed in my direction.  In a matter of minutes they have drawn level with me and then overtake me.  My speed hasn’t increased in the last seven days; a reminder that my training programme still has a long way to go.

The path is steep, very steep.  In fact, it seems to me that it is vertical.  I cannot walk this path.  My fear of falling is heightened and I am forced onto my hands and knees as I scramble up.  The two walkers are already on the ridge.  They look down at me and I am sure they must think I am ridiculous.  I don’t care.  I know that if I turn around to look at the view, which is no doubt spectacular, I shall be rooted to the spot.  I keep facing ahead at all times and slowly (very slowly) I continue to climb and, suddenly, I am there.  On the ridge.  Now I can really start to walk.

The walk is lovely.  The views are stunning, the sun is shining and the path is level.  In a couple of places it is rather narrow and I find myself walking closer to the edge than I would prefer, but I am enjoying myself, no doubt about it.  I can see the entire horseshoe and all the peaks that I need to traverse.

I finish the ridge by lunchtime and reward myself with my tuna salad.  Anything to lighten the load on my back.  The promised rain starts but, just as I drag my waterproof from my backpack, it stops.  Hopefully it will remain dry at least until I have returned to the car.  I am now on the same path as last week, about to walk to the summit of Pen y Fan.  However, the horseshoe walk includes my pet-hate, Corn Du.  I decide that I shall do this today.  After all, there is no mist to get lost in and all fears have to be conquered.  If I can’t walk up Corn Du I am never going to manage to walk over the Pyrenées.  To my amazement and delight, I find that walking up Corn Du is much easier than I expected and much less scary (to me) than walking down Corn Du from the summit.  I continue along the path to Pen y Fan and then come to a grinding halt.

The path has disappeared.  I cannot see where I am supposed to go.  I remove my iphone from my pocket and consult the app.  Following the route on the app, I walk across the top of Pen y Fan and find myself staring over the edge of the mountain, seemingly into open air.  I look down.  I see the path.  It is a vertical descent.  I can’t do this.  I shall fall.  Yet, at the same time, I can’t go back.  I cannot climb down Graig Fan Ddu.  I start to sweat.  I am stuck.  I return to the cairn on Pen y Fan, sit down and re-evaluate.  I could walk down Pen y Fan following the tourist route I took last week.  However, my car is in the Taf Fechan car park and I have no means to get there from the Storey Arms car park.  I have no alternative but to follow the horseshoe path.  I stand and take a deep breath.  I can do this.

I return to the precipice and sit with my legs dangling into space.  If I have to scramble up steep paths, why not scramble down, too?  I shall descend in the manner of a toddler negotiating stairs for the first time.  I lower myself onto the step below me and immediately sit on it and drop my legs towards the next one.  It takes me an age, but I am successful in negotiating the path and am then immediately faced with the next challenge: ascending Cribyn.  It looks very steep and I am exhausted already.  However, I am also exhilerated on account of my achievement in descending Pen y Fan and so I continue without stopping further.

Despite my inability to increase my speed, I discover that my fitness levels must be improving after all as I walk up Cribyn without any problems.  I stop at the summit to photograph the view of Pen y Fan and surroundings before turning to face Fan y Big.  There are tents scattered all along the path up this mountain.  More soldiers on a training exercise; apparently they hadn’t all been returning when I set off this morning.  They seem to be everywhere.  I check my watch.  It is quarter to three.  I need to be back at the car by 4pm.  Can I make it up and down Fan y Big and return to the car park in just over an hour?  I know that I cannot.  Moreover, I do not relish walking past all the fit soldiers at my snail pace.  I shall be laughed at, even if not openly to my face.  I am going to have to forgo this last summit.  Thunder rumbles and my decision is made.  I shall have to return another day when, hopefully, I am not so exhausted and have no time contraints.

The path from the bottom of Cribyn to the car park at Taf Fechan is an easy path, albeit stony and uneven.  My speed picks up and I overtake other walkers along the track.  When walking on the flat I am not too bad at all, it is only on the ascents and descents that I become a laggard.  It has taken me five and a half hours and I had to forgo Fan y Big but I am, nevertheless, immensely proud of myself.  It is only the end of May; there is nearly a whole year until I start El Camino.  Just think how fit I can be by then.

Conquering Pen y Fan

It is Friday.  I pull back the curtains to reveal the dawn of a beautiful, new day.  Except that I don’t anywhere other than in my dreams.  In reality, I draw back the curtains to reveal a dull, cloudy , dank and positively misty day. Nonetheless, my mind is resolved to walking up Pen y Fan and, this time, I am not going to be dissuaded.  On my previous visit I had enjoyed the benefit of beautfiul blue skies and the summit had revealed the most glorious view across the entire Brecon Beacons National Park.  Today, however, I know that I am unlikely to see anything at all.

My first dilemma is which backpack to take.  Do I take my new, Osprey backpack or do I take the ‘fashion’ backpack that immediately marks me out as not being serious?  I don’t really want to wear the Osprey pack as it is very large, I haven’t yet adjusted it to fit correctly and, if I’m being honest, I don’t want to get it dirty.  The fashion backpack it is then.  I pack what I feel is appropriate kit: gloves, woolly hat, waterproof jacket and trousers, bottles of water and a flask of peppermint tea.  I almost feel like a ‘proper’ backpacker.

Now for the second dilemma: lipstick or no lipstick?  I still haven’t resolved the issue.  My skincare range of choice, Skinesis, has just brought out a new lip moisturiser which also tints the lips and I wonder if this will be all that I need.  I apply it, along with eyeliner and lipliner.  Then I touch up my eyebrows.  This will be the sum total of my Camino make-up (although the eyebrows will be tinted in advance, of course) and I am treating this exercise as much as possible like a dress rehearsal;  I don’t want to be accused of not being fully prepared.  I pause before applying lipstick.  Will I really want to be bothered to do this, when I’m (potentially) about to walk 15 miles a day? A small tube of lipstick is hardly the end of the world when it comes to added backpack weight, but all the ‘just in case’s’ add up and suddenly you’re carrying half a kilo (or more) that isn’t absolutely necessary.  I stare at myself in the mirror and go for it.  The lipstick is on.  I look ridiculous.  Completely over the top.  Lipliner on tinted moisturised lips is enough.  The weight of a lipliner pencil and plastic sharpener is minimal.  If I really feel the need to colour my lips I can always fill them in fully with the pencil.  The decision is made: No lipstick.  I feel oddly liberated.  Such a small matter, borne out of vanity, yet it makes a huge difference to my shallow existence.

I collect my walking poles and depart approximately half an hour later than I intend.  I arrive at Storey Arms car park just before nine o’clock.  It is heaving.  Already.  There doesn’t appear to be anywhere to park and I can see an army of little ants marching up the mountain path.  Realising that I, myself, will shortly be a soldier in these ranks, I find the last available parking space and set off.

The main route up Pen y Fan is an easy path.  It is stone pitched and fairly level.  The ascent is steeper at the bottom and plateaus near the top.  I start off eagerly enough but I am slower than a snail.  Still, I am not finding it a struggle as I had previously.  Admittedly I was four stone heavier on that occasion, but I had thought I was going to die and had needed to stop at least three times on the way up.  I am approximately one third of they way up when I look ahead and see that a small group, which had started out as I was parking my car, is closer than it originally had been.  I may be slow, but evidently I am not the slowest.  Then again, for all I know, they are a group of octogenarians.  I hear footsteps behind me.  Someone is powering up the path. My new found belief in my abilities evaporates.  I AM slow.  A man appears beside me.  Not an octogenarian, but most definitely a sexagenarian; a really fit monkey sporting a backpack so enormous that it puts my Camino one to shame.  My feeling of inadequacy is complete.  He stops to exchange pleasantries; most walkers this morning appear to be friendly.  In fact, he seems to be trying to do more than exchange just the pleasantries but then, frustrated by my pace, he bids me farewell and continues his ascent alone.

Several more males, both sexagenarians and septuagenarians, pass by me in both directions.  Am I the only female mad enough to spend a Friday morning pursuing this activity?  As I ascend, so I start to walk into low cloud cover.  I see a footpath veer off to the left.  I don’t remember this path at all. It isn’t the main path so I know not to follow it.  Suddenly, I get the answer to my question.  I am not the only female, but the one headed towards me is clad in camouflage and carrying an enormous backpack.  Furthermore, she is brandishing a rifle and is running.  Yes, running.  I am barely steady enough to walk and she is running whilst carrying a rifle.  She is followed by several men dressed in identical attire.  They veer off the path and set off down the track that I had espied only moments earlier.  The army is on a training exercise.

I negotiate the platoon of squaddies running towards me and finally reach the plateau, the point at which the path divides.  It is shrouded in cloud and I cannot see my hand in front of my face.  Do I take the right-hand path or the left?  This is exactly the scenario that I had envisaged last Monday, the reason why I had abandoned my plans then, yet ironically it is the dilemma that faces me now.  I glance around.  Suddenly I am all alone.  There is no sign of any soldiers even, let alone walkers.  There is no-one to ask for help.  The path to the right looks a little close to the cliff-edge for my liking.  I decide to try the left-hand path.  I take no more than twenty steps and suddenly a pile of rocks emerges out of the dense, white fog.  I am facing Corn Du.  The mountain top that I particularly don’t want to walk / climb up today.  I am on the wrong path.  I know I could continue as, once on the summit, I can walk the path that connects Corn Du to Pen y Fan, but I decide not to do this.  I turn around, walk back to the junction and choose the right-hand path.  Ignoring the cliff edge, which actually doesn’t seem to be too steep now that I’m walking on it, I realise that this is a very easy path.  It soon widens and I know I am only minutes away from the summit.

I decide to photograph the cairn, a Bronze Age burial chamber, denoting the peak to prove to any doubters (I include myself in this category) that I have accomplished my mission.  As I remove my iPhone from my pocket, the walker I had encountered earlier emerges from behind the cairn and offers to take my photograph.  Despite a growing unease developing that he had been waiting for me, I accept his offer.  After all, I would prefer to have a photograph showing me at the summit.  In fact, it is a good photograph and I decide to use it for my blog avatar.

My plan to stop at the top and enjoy my flask of hot, peppermint tea is abandoned as I am ambushed by the sexagenerian, who evidently wishes to accompany me on the descent.  I do not understand why I have an inherent inability to say ‘no’ to people, but I do.  I am unable to disappoint this man I have never met before, so I do not stand my ground and insist that I’d like to spend a while at the top of Pen y Fan, enjoying my hot beverage.  Furthermore, I allow myself to be pigeon-holed into walking the path across to Corn Du and walking up that summit.  The very route I most definitely do not want to do.

The summit of Corn Du is, however, quite interesting on this occasion. This is where the army is to be found.  One after another, soldiers appear to be hurling themselves, complete with rifle and fully-laden backpack, over the edge into the murky, cloud-encompassed abyss below.  It horrifies me.  Some of them look as though they are enjoying a walk in the park.  Others, however, are clearly struggling.  They look exhausted and breathless.  I am inspired by these noble men and women who are training to fight on our behalf and find that walking / climbing down from the summit is much easier than I had remembered.  It also helps, of course, that I cannot see beyond the cloud cover and so am unaware of how exposed the summit of Corn Du is.

I learn that the man’s name is Chris.  He works in IT, although is semi-retired.  Perhaps he isn’t as old as he looks.  In which case, perhaps all this outside activity isn’t as good for you as I think it is.  He is definitely trying to chat me up.  I do not want to be chatted up.  I want to be at one with nature, focusing on my training programme.  I want to be alone in my thoughts.  I do not say any of this.  I make polite conversation and tell him my reasons for walking Pen y Fan this morning.  I am rewarded for so doing.  Chris suggests that I try a circular walk around the Beacons known as the Brecon Beacons Horseshoe Ridge Walk.  It encompasses five mountain peaks, including Pen y Fan.

I think about my proposed training programme of walking up Pen y Fan on a monthly basis and decide that next month I should try this horseshoe ridge walk instead.  Then, I re-consider.  Instead of leaving it a whole month, why not try this route next Friday instead of walking along the Monmouthshire and Brecon Canal as I had originally planned?  I am so delighted with my new programme that I stop thinking about excuses as to why I cannot agree to see Chris again.  I feel sure that he’s about to ask me out and I’m trying desperately to think of a way to say no.  Fortunately, he suggests giving me his email address and asks me to contact him if I want company on my future training walks.  I take his address, relieved at not having to let him down face-to-face, but immediately he walks away I destroy it, knowing that I shall never contact him.

I have a small chuckle to myself.  Nik will never believe this – all I do is don comfortable, but extremely unflattering walking gear and venture, hot and bothered, up a mountain, almost void of make-up and yet I’m pestered by an old(er) man.  I note that he wasn’t a young(er) man.  (Story of my life, but that’s another tale entirely).  I do hope this doesn’t happen when walking El Camino and I know that Nik will share that sentiment.

Despite the minor inconvenience, I go home, feeling fired up and positive.  I have a new walking programme and, in the meantime, I am even considering using the elliptical machine.

A Lack of Discipline

 

 

I find the elliptical machine and place it in the dining room.  I step onto it.  Admittedly, I have it set for maximum resistance (I can’t be bothered to mess about with the lower settings.  I’m an ‘all or nothing’ kind of girl) but after four minutes only I collapse in a heap on the floor.  Four minutes! Hardly an auspicious start.  However, the next day I manage five minutes, then six.  I am encouraged, but the following day I can barely manage two.  Things are not looking good.  I start to hate the machine.

I try a different tactic .  It is Bank Holiday weekend.  I shall use the extra day off work to its full advantage and go up Pen y Fan.  If I leave very early (i.e. 6am) I should be there before the inevitable hordes of tourists and trippers who venture up the highest peak of the Brecon Beacons, thus ensuring my walk will be relatively quiet and I should also be able to find an available parking place.

I discover, however, that I am not very good at sticking to a plan without someone else around to encourage me.  I wake up late on Bank Holiday Monday (7am) and it is raining.  I panic.  I seem to remember the last (and, indeed, first and only) time I walked up Pen y Fan that there is a point where the path splits. If it is raining and there is low cloud, will I choose the wrong path?  I particuarlarly don’t want to walk up Corn Du, the mountain summit adjacent to Pen y Fan, which is to where the ‘wrong’ path leads.  I recall that it is a series of high stones that I found myself scrambling over to reach the summit.  I didn’t enjoy that before and on that occasion I was with a member of Brecon Beacons Mountain Rescue, so I was in safe hands.  I definitely don’t want to do it unaccompanied.  I decide not to walk up Pen y Fan after all.  I justify this by convincing myself that it is more important to finish the ironing.  This justification doesn’t work, though and I spend all day beating myself up over my lack of willpower.  I devise a new plan:  I shall go the following Friday, come rain or shine.

In the meantime, I continue to find more camino walkers to follow on Twitter.  One of these is Jane Blanchard.  She has written a book (it would appear that everyone who walks at least one camino feels the need to do this); in fact she has written several but the one that I notice is Women of the Way.  I don’t know why I’m drawn to this book as I don’t usually care of ‘female exclusive’ clubs or activities.  However, I feel the need to read another book on El Camino, so I download this one on my Kindle App.  The first thing I notice is the cover.  The woman featured (Jane herself) appears to be wearing a skirt.  I look at this and think ‘how ridiculous does that look – a skirt with hiking boots’.  Now, glamourpuss that I am, I’m a woman who would always prefer to wear a dress, at the expense of anything else.  A skirt as a substitute, perhaps and rarely, if ever, trousers. However, wearing a skirt to hike in had not occurred to me and seemed, to be honest, to be faintly absurd.  I start reading the book and discover that there is a point on El Camino where there are no facilities for miles.  This means not only no refreshments but no facilities for calls of nature, either.  Jane suggests that needing to go to the loo in a skirt is a lot easier than negotiating with trousers.  I think she has a point.  I’m not someone who generally allows calls of nature to be answered unless there are immaculately spotless facilities available but even I can see that walking for hours when there is nothing available might mean I have to make compromises.

When Nik and I had discussed clothing options while we were in Pembrokeshire, I had decided that, rather than wear shorts (shorts is not a good look on a woman of my size and shape) I would wear Rab capri pants.  In accordance with indulging my shopping habit, I order a pair online and when they arrive I like them.  Do I now want to buy a skirt as well? Conscious, as ever, about weight (not to mention the continued, still increasing expense) I decide I need to give this some serious consideration.  I go to the Royal Robbins website and find there are several different styles available.  They even offer Factor 50 protection against the sun.  I am liking this idea more and more.  However, (amazingly – and unusually – for me) I exercise restraint and decide that I will discuss this option with Nik when we meet for our week of walking in the Lake District.

I do not exercise the same restraint when it comes to the sunglasses.  I like Nik’s Oakley sunglasses and I decide that I will look online to choose a pair so that I know what I want when I arrive at Gatwick in July.  However, as with the walking boots, I find that the style I like (incidentally, the same style and colourway that Nik has.  We really are Tweedledee and Tweedledum) is out of stock.  Again, as with the walking boots, I find a European website that does still have them.  I decide not to risk waiting for Gatwick Airport bargains and I order them.  I feel a sense of déjà vu when, just a few days later, the website company contacts me to say that the sunglasses I want are out of stock after all. Back to square one….

I have four days until my (postponed) trip up Pen y Fan.  The elliptical machine looms.  In fact, it positively glowers at me.  I resent it.  I know I should get on it, use it and conquer it, but I hate it with a passion.  I don’t want to have it in the house, even.  I shall go up Pen y Fan on Friday and I shan’t need the machine at all.  I ignore it and hope that it will magically disappear.

Social Media

Is it possible to feel exhilerated and despondent at the same time?  When I arrive home that is exactly how I feel.  I am despondent and seriously worried about my fitness levels and ability to even start El Camino, let alone complete it.  However, I am exhilarated about setting up my blog and it is to this that my attention turns first.

I Google ‘setting up a blog’ and choose WordPress as my host site.   I am quite good at I.T. yet this is all new to me.  It is a minefield of information. I wonder if I will ever get to grips with it.  I discover that I can link my posts to Facebook and Twitter pages.  This sets off a new train of thought – I will set up new accounts for both.  So, I turn to Facebook and set up a new page Camina de Aquarosa.  I invite a few of my friends, the ones that I think may be interested in this escapade, to ‘like’ the page.  Then I turn to Twitter and set up a new profile @CaminaAquarosa and suddenly it occurs to me that if I want a Camino-specific Twitter account there may also be others who are like-minded.  I search El Camino de Santiago and instantly a whole new world opens up to me.  I discover that there are, unsurprisingly really, hundreds of people who blog about their camino, many more who have undertaken several different caminos (I am doing the Camino Francés, but there are several different routes, including the Caminos Nortés, Inglés and Primitivo).

I follow Heiner, a German who has completed no less than eight caminos.  I am fortunate enough to start following him just before he embarks on the eighth, the Camino Trier-Nancy.  It turns out to be a very wet year in that part of the world and I see just what hard work walking in continuous rain can be.  I start praying that the weather will be drier next April; walking in mud up to your ankles really doesn’t look very pleasant.

I also follow Shlomo Cohen, a man who has walked six caminos and is planning his seventh next year. As with Heiner, I start following him just before he does his 2016 camino.  Unlike Heiner, Shlomo experiences beautiful, sunny weather.  I pray even harder for dry weather next April.  After all, enjoying the scenery and surroundings is all part of the experience and there isn’t a lot to experience when the clouds are in your face and you and your belongings are sodden to the core.

The best finds of all, however, are the forums.  I find two:Camino Forum and Camino de Santiago.  There is nothing on these forums that hasn’t already been asked; there are so many answers to all the questions I have and even more to questions that I didn’t know I had.  Both forums operate in the same way: As people ask a question / post to the forum, so a post is created on the Twitter account.  This means that you can see who is currently doing El Camino, who is planning to go (and very often, when) and who has experienced it.  I join both forums as well as following their Twitter accounts; I may need their help at some stage.

I realise that I am in danger of becoming a camino bore.  I eat, sleep, breathe, talk about El Camino and nothing else.  Suddenly April 2017 seems a long way off.  I want to go now.  I want to experience it all.  I feel as if ‘normal life’ is on hold.  Everything else pales into insignificance.  My despondency dissipates.  I am excited, really excited.  I can do this.  Having ‘seen’ so many others that have achieved it, I know I can do it.  It is time to stop reading about it all (after all, I don’t want to know too much, I want to experience it fully as I walk it, not ‘know’ what lies ahead) and turn my attention back to the training programme….

A Blog and a Plan

I’d always wanted to write.  As a child I wrote books and plays incessantly.  However, as I grew up my imagination all but disappeared.  I’d heard about blogs but had no idea how to set one up as I didn’t think I had anything to write about.  Now I had.

A downside to this plan was that I’d already decided not to take my iPad with me on El Camino.  Even though it was an iPad Air2, it would still be too heavy.  Sybille had suggested taking a mobile ‘phone and an ultra-light keyboard.  As it happened, I had both of those and so that was what I would do. My head started buzzing with ideas about my forthcoming blog; I couldn’t wait to start writing.

In the meantime, however, there was still much walking around the Pembrokeshire Coast Path to be done.  However, after the nine mile walk of the first day, each successive walk seemed to be shorter and shorter and I found it harder and harder.  We started each day in a charming village that featured a café selling yummy cakes (not that I was eating them, but Nik indulged and enjoyed herself) and found circular walks nearby.  I did wonder about my ability to do El Camino.  If five miles was hard going (and it was), I would never manage fifteen.

Every evening (and most mornings, too, come to that) I swam in the pool. It helped to stretch and relax the muscles. Sadly, I realised, that would not be an option on El Camino. Well, perhaps on the occasions when we stayed in Paradors.

I had read about Paradors in Jane Christmas’ book. A Parador is an exclusive, luxury hotel, usually a converted historical building. Although not expensive by British standards, they are still considerably more expensive than a refugio and we werent planning to stay in more than three: Léon, Burgos and Santiago. I wondered about the wisdom of packing a swimsuit. Again, it wouldn’t weigh much and wouldn’t take up much space in the backpack, but was it worth it for just three uses, one of which would be at the end of the trip?

On my last day (Nik was staying for a full week but I, sadly, had to leave to return to work) we found a walk close to Broad Haven.  We had been recommended by Jayne, owner of the fabulous, quaint café, The Bay, in Broad Haven, to visit Druidstone Hotel, an establishment with an interesting history and quirky décor.  Apparently it is frequented by the rich and famous (not that we saw any).  So it was there that we enjoyed our morning coffee (this is a euphemism – neither of us was actually drinking coffee).  Sitting at a table, looking out at the fabulous view over Druidston Haven we finalised our plan to walk the Pembrokeshire Coast Path in September.  We agreed a date and wondered if we might finish at this hotel as it would surely be an interesting place to stay.  Yet another plan was in place.

Plans, Ideas and (yet more) Expense

I woke up the next morning aching all over.  I groaned as I arose.  Nik asured me she felt the same way, but I didn’t really believe her.  She hadn’t groaned – and she certainly didn’t look as though she was suffering.  Was I really sure I could do this?

My obsession with not letting Nik down continued to grow .  I needed to formulate a plan to ensure I’d be able to walk not just over the Pyrénées but also up Scafell Pike, a trip which was scarily close all of a sudden.  Still, there’s nothing like walking to clear the mind and bring ideas to the fore and, as we walked along the coastal path that day, in the beautiful sunshine, I decided that not only would I walk up Pen y Fan (the highest peak in the Brecon Beacons) prior to our trip to the Lake District, but I would also walk up Snowdon.  In fact, I couldn’t see why I shouldn’t walk up Pen y Fan once a month, every month from now until our due departure date in April 2017.  I was determined that I would manage to walk over the Pyrénées.

I also realised that I needed to increase the amount of walking that I did in general.  One major problem was a lack of time on the days when I work.  I realised that in the summer, when the days are long, it wasn’t an issue but that, come the autumn and winter, I wouldn’t want to be going out walking in the dark.  Then I remembered that hidden somewhere in the depths of an outbuilding at home I possessed an elliptical cross-trainer machine.  It not only means using a walking posture but also simulates walking uphill, as it has a ‘high stepping’ action.  The ‘handles’ would also build up my arm muscles, which was necessary as I intended to use walking poles throughout El Camino and, hopefully, tone up my rapidly developing ‘bingo wings’ (weight loss does have some disadvantages).

Our walk that day, as with the one the day before, covered a variety of terrains: pebbles, sand, tarmac, grass, rocky inclines, steep descents (well, they seemed steep to me at the time), narrow pathways and fields.  As we walked them all, it occurred to us that the Pembrokeshire Coast Path was good training ground for El Camino.  When we returned to the apartment (staying in an apartment in a castle: it really was very grand) later that afternoon I investigated further and discovered that the PCP was 180 miles in total.  If we could co-ordinate a week in September we could try to cover at least half that distance, if not three quarters of it.  It would be a real dummy-run: we agreed that we would pack our backpacks as we intended to for El Camino and walk as far as we could get.  Another plan had been formed.

Our minds then turned to the other thing we appeared to have become expert in: discussing what else we needed to buy.  I had acquired quite a tan on the back of my neck, due to the unexpected sun and now having short hair and I realised that I would need a hat.  I managed to find one online at Weird Fish that was blue with a grey and purple pattern – talk about co-ordination with my impending new boots and existing clothing.  I was beginning to feel better about my deviation from purple when ordering the boots (appearance was still important.  Old habits die hard, they say.  It appeared to be true).  I also needed t-shirts.  I had one long-sleeved top that was suitable, but I would also need 2 short-sleeved tops.  The problem was that I couldn’t find any that weren’t high-necked and I hate anything that sits on my collarbone.  Despite scouring the internet for hours, we both conceded defeat on that issue and decided we would look for my t-shirts when we were in the Lake District.  After all, Ambleside is shopping heaven for walkers and hikers; I would surely find something there.  Nik was keen to find some walking poles, not having previously used them and decided to add those to our shopping list for Ambleside.

However, one item that was best bought online prior to our Lake District trip was a rucksack for Nik.  Nik has quite a collection of rucksacks, including a very fetching purple one which I try hard not to covet, but she conceded that the one I had was best for El Camino as it has special mesh-padding which helps spread the weight of the load and is also more comfortable.    It occurred to me that we would look like Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Dum in our matching rucksacks (no prizes for guessing which one I would be).  I have a theory that, in order to avoid being a victim of theft, it is better to stand out from the crowd in clothing / kit that is obvious and identifiable, rather than having ‘subdued’, anonymous possessions.  In accordance with this theory having matching rucksacks was actually a good idea.  In the end, sadly, the colourway of my rucksack was no longer available so Nik ordered it in green.  It was rather a bright, vivid green and Nik suggested that if I was going to look like a ‘walking aubergine’ she would don a red hat and look like an ‘exotic Amazonian bug’.  It seemed that we would still stand out and be identifiable after all.

I’d also discovered, after two days of walking in the sunshine, that my Dior fashion sunglasses may be very beautiful but they really weren’t going to be suitable for El Camino.  They were too heavy.  Naturally Nik, being more experienced in outdoor ‘kit’ than I, already possessed a pair of eminently suitable sunglasses, courtesy of Oakley. In fact, she said she’d bought hers at Heathrow Airport cheaper than she’d seen them online.  I made a mental note to look for some at Gatwick Airport when I would be there in July.

I had also been fretting over what to do about a purse.  My everyday one is large and weighs a ton.  It was completely unsuitable for El Camino.  I mentioned to Nik that Sybille Yates had suggested a money belt, but that I had no idea what one of these was.  Again, Nik came to the rescue as, of course, she already had one of these.  Some more research on the internet ensued and I then found a bum bag / money belt courtesy of Lifeventure.  This wasn’t an ordinary money belt.  Oh no.  Apparently it is made of a special fabric that prevents fraudsters from reading your card details through it.  Seemed ideal to me and, crucially, it was purple. What’s more, it would also hold my iPhone and tissues, which relieved me of another problem in that our leggings (which Nik and I had agreed were essential to take with us) were devoid of pockets.  With my new money belt I would no longer need to worry about that.  Furthermore, the belt could be removed leaving the bag, which was ideal to use as a handbag when we went out in the evening (assuming, of course, that we’d have the energy to walk to a restaurant after walking 15 miles each day).  Problems were being resolved left, right and centre.

Whilst we’d been walking on this trip I’d been taking photographs along the way and posting them each evening on Facebook.  I started to wonder about the logistics of doing this once we were on El Camino.  It was then that another idea began to form – I would write a blog….

Serious Training Begins

The next morning Nik and I donned our walking gear, armed ourselves with a map and directions for a circular walk from the castle, along the Pembrokeshire Coast Path, through a local village and back to the castle and set off for an easy seven mile walk, or so we thought.

As it happened, we got a little lost.  This was not an auspicious start.  We’d managed to get lost when we’d gone walking in the Lake District the previous October.  On that occasion it was supposed to be a five mile walk and ended up being nine miles.  This time we exceeded that and managed to turn four and a half miles into nine.  Unless we both improved our map reading skills our Camino was going to be considerably longer than 800 kilometres and, quite honestly, that was already going to be more than enough.

However, we discovered that walking is good for the brain.  Little wonder we took a couple of wrong turnings as we paid hardly any attention to the map on account of being too busy bouncing ideas off each other.  In order to assuage our concerns about the Pyrénées, we would walk up some national mountains first.  I am fortunate in that I live only 40 minutes’ drive from the Brecon Beacons, so I suggested that we walk up the highest of those, Pen y Fan, sometime before we go.   We could, then  perhaps try Snowdon?  The downside to this suggestion was that we were planning to leave next April and so it would be winter in the months beforehand, hardly ideal mountain walking weather.  So Nik decided that, as we were already going to the Lake District in June in order to practise hill walking, we may as well try to walk up Scafell Pike whilst there.  I tentatively agreed but inwardly I felt terrified.  Scafell Pike!  It’s so high; I felt I would never mange it.  Then I realised I’d have to ‘man up’; if I couldn’t walk up Scafell Pike how on earth did I think I was going to be able to walk over the Pyrénées?  Privately, I decided that I would have to arrange a walk up Pen y Fan before our June trip; at least that would give me some preparation and, as I’d walked up it a few years before, I knew it was something I could achieve (even on my own).  I really didn’t want to let Nik down and my level of fitness was nothing like as good as hers.

When we arrived back at the castle for the evening Nik suggested watching a dvd.  I agreed with some trepidation; after all I could hardly forget what had happened the last time she had suggested we did this.  My concern appeared to be justified when she suggested we watch Wild – the journey of Cheryl Strayed hiking solo for 1,100 miles across the Pacific Crest Trail.  Would I feel the need to undertake this journey, too?  Fortunately, this time there was nothing to endear me to the trip:  I didn’t feel the desire to carry everything in a backpack (including tent, cooking equipment and utensils etc) and camp out in the middle of the woods, at the mercy of all types of mammals (homo sapiens included) and, it seemed to me, without the beauty of any stunning scenery.  However, what I did learn from the film was that a detached toenail was the result of wearing boots that were too small.

Earlier that afternoon I had noticed that a blister was forming on my right toe, in exactly the same place as one had formed when I’d first worn the boots on that holiday in La Gomera.  At the time I’d decided that my ‘100% blister-proof’ 1000-mile socks weren’t, after all, as blister-proof as they’d claimed.  However, when walking downhill my toenail had begun to throb quite painfully and, whilst watching the film, I realised that my boots were too small.  Then I remembered that I’d bought them at my usual shoe size when, in fact, I had previously bought walking boots half a size larger.  Despair at having to spend yet more money was overcome with joy at the thought of not only being able to buy the gorgeous boots I’d wanted after all, but actually needing to.  Justified expense.  Even at the larger size I couldn’t find them in my preferred colour-way, although I did find a pair in purple.  Surprisingly, they didn’t appeal to me.  Perhaps I didn’t want to be a complete ‘Purple People Eater’ after all.  Eventually, I bought a pair in a rather tasteful blue / grey combo.  However, for the remainder of our training in St Brides’ Bay my existing, too small, boots would have to do.

 

 

The Pyrénées

I began to wonder if all women on El Camino were Canadian.  Or, at least, those that wrote about the experience.  Sybille was Canadian and so was Jane Christmas (author of What The Psychic Told The Pilgrim).  However, whereas I had liked Sybille, Jane Christmas most definitely got on my nerves.

Jane had decided to walk El Camino as a solo venture in acknowledgement of her 50th birthday.  As it turned out, due to various circumstances, she started the trip as one of a group of twelve, about which she appeared to be none too pleased.  However, one by one, her travelling companions disappeared from the scene leaving her to walk alone – and she then proceeded to complain bitterly about this from one page to the next.

However, these complaints (both hers in the book and mine about her) aside, I gleaned several useful items of information, including affirmation of one of Ms Yates’, which is to rub vaseline into your feet first thing in the morning and again last thing at night. However, the primary reason Nik had suggested I read the book was Jane’s description of the Pyrénées.

I’m not good with heights.  It’s not that I dislike them; I’m quite happy in an aeroplane, for example.  However, I have a phobia about falling.  I cannot stand higher than two rungs of a step ladder and have been known to feel quite giddy about traversing a river with uneven stepping stones, just in case I fall.  I have tried to conquer this phobia.  I’ve been to the top of the Eiffel Tower, in Paris and the Chrysler Building, in New York.  I tried the external, glass-cube lift of the Lloyds Building, in London and ate in the revolving restaurant of the Skylon Tower, at Niagara Falls (access to which also involves an outside elevator).  I even went to the top of the World Trade Center, where the walls were glass from floor to ceiling.  I also poked my head up through the roof but couldn’t manage to walk on it, despite the super-high railings around the edge.  This has led to some wonderful experiences (except in the case of the Eiffel Tower, which was just plain scary on account of being able to feel the structure move in the wind) but nothing has cured the phobia.  Now, it would appear I would have to face my worst nightmare in walking over the Pyrénées.

When Nik and I watched the film The Way, the footage of the section over the Pyrénées didn’t look scary at all.  In fact, it was because it appeared to be so unthreatening that I considered this in the first place.  Jane Christmas’ book set me straight on that assumption.  She said some people describe the Pyrénées as ‘challenging’ and ‘arduous’. They are, she assured the reader, ‘torture; imagine Hell under sunny skies’.  Her description of her first day on El Camino was sufficient to make me seriously question what on earth I thought I was doing.  If it was that difficult and all your bones and muscles not only ache, but really hurt, after just the first day, did I really stand any chance at all of completing it?  By ‘it’ I mean the first day, not El Camino.

Nik and I met in St Brides, as arranged, at another HPB property, the fabulous St Brides’ Castle.  Really, their properties are amazing and investment in the company seems more and more like a good idea each time I visit one.  Almost the first words out of my mouth were ‘I’m not sure about the Pyrénées.  Can either of us cope?’  As it happens, Nik doesn’t have much of a head for heights, either.  What Nik is, however, is far more pragmatic than I am and she felt sure we would manage; we just needed to do some training.

 

Preparation and Further Expense

The first three months of 2016 hadn’t been completely idle, however.  Lacking in physical training they may have been, but I read plenty and learned lots.

I started with the book ‘Camino de Santiago – Pilgrim Tips & Packing List’ by S.Yates.  It offered excellent advice on what to pack and what you didn’t need.  One of the first items mentioned was boots.  It suggested buying Lowa Renegade GTX walking boots.  I took a look online.  They looked good.  They even produced them in dark grey with lilac laces – just made for me.  They would co-ordinate beautifully with my new rucksack.  There was only one problem – I’d only just recently bought a new pair of boots.  Pretty, aubergine ones.  Perfectly colour-coded with the rest of my walking gear.  There was no way I could justify buying a second pair of boots.  The boots I had (in fact, the same boots that I’d been wearing in La Gomera on that holiday) were perfectly adequate.

The next item mentioned was socks.  Socks are very important.  Almost as important as boots.  Sybille recommended 1000 mile socks as you can buy thin, inner socks and then thicker socks to wear over them.  I learned that a double layer of sock prevents rubbing and friction on the skin and therefore you are less likely to develop blisters.   Naturally, I went straight to the website and then discovered that they had produced a new range of sock which is already double-layered.  I bought them.  Actually, I bought two pairs.  I would have bought three if they’d made the ladies socks in the fetching blue that they produce for men.

Having bought new socks I returned to look at the boots.  They really were lovely.  My feet would survive El Camino much better if they were clad in the ‘right’ boots, surely?  I weakened and succumbed.  The problem was finding the colour I wanted in my size, but finally I tracked down an Italian site that had them.  Not only did they have them, but they were cheaper than most other sites, too.  Bonus.

The expense, you’ll notice, was continuing (and increasing).

Another of Sybille’s suggestions was to forgo concern over body hair.  “Don’t even think about packing a razor” she said. “Why not?” I’d thought.  After all, they don’t exactly weigh much, but the mantra thoughout the book is to minimise as much as you can and not to carry anything that isn’t strictly essential.  It advises that several very light items still add up and then you are carrying unnecessary weight.  However, Glamourpuss that I (still, for the time being) am, there was no way that I was even going to consider walking for 800 kilometres in shorts with hairy legs.  Let alone a short-sleeved t-shirt with armpits ‘à la français’.  That left me with a dilemma.  What to do?  Waxing was out of the question.  I’d tried it once, over twenty years ago and the pain was so bad that the beautician refused to do under my arms, let alone the bikini line.  I’d heard that sugaring was equally, if not more, painful, so that was also not an option.  Electrolysis, even if available for large areas (I had no idea if it was, or even if it was still used) was also not a sensible suggestion, given my complete lack of pain threshold.  Eventually I found a device called Smoothskin.  It claimed to remove unwanted hair completely (or, at least, when reading the small print, prevent re-growth for a minimum of six weeks) and, more importantly for me, painlessly.  It seemed to be the answer but, naturally, it wasn’t cheap. The expense appeared to be growing exponentially……

Make-up, Sybille suggested, was not necessary on El Camino.  Not even lipstick.  Yay!  At last, somewhere where I could actually save money, surely?  I’d already come to the conclusion that, weight and space aside, the desire to paint my eyes and face would not be high on the agenda when one is tired and filthy (as I was led to believe would be the case) but no lipstick?  I rarely, if ever, go out without filling in my eyebrows and trying to extend my almost non-existent eyelashes with mascara.  These luxuries would have to be abandoned.  My next project, therefore, would be to find a local beautician who could tint my lashes and do something with my eyebrows (threading perhaps?  I’d heard about this but wasn’t entirely sure what it entailed.  I suspected pain would be involved, yet again.  Why does beautifying oneself always mean considerable expense just so that one can suffer pain?) More expenditure was looking likely.

I’d never read a book as slowly as I read this one.  That would be because everytime Sybille recommended something I’d stop reading and immediately research it on the internet.  My iPad gained a phenomenally long ‘reading list’ of noted websites that I’d need to investigate sometime between then and April 2017. Even I couldn’t / wouldn’t be rushing out to buy everything all at once.  Apart from which, purchases such as shorts etc would require me to be at my target weight – and that was still some way off.

Some relief from the already seemingly constant credit card battering came when I received an email from the Italian boot-selling company advising that the boot I’d requested was not after all available in the colourway I’d requested.  I heaved a sigh of relief and resigned myself to the boots I already possessed.  I’d have new socks, after all, I didn’t really need new boots as well.

Despite my lack of physical preparation, I was getting really excited about this. Then Nik contacted me.  Had I read the book ‘What the Psychic Told the Pilgrim‘? she asked.  I’d seen it recommended on Amazon, but as I don’t have any time for the notion of ‘psychics’ I’d decided not to buy it.  You must, Nik said.  Read it and think about it.  “I think we might be crazy”.  Fear was re-installed in me.  ‘Read it and finish it before we go to St Brides” she insisted.  I bought the book (really, I know I’m going on about it but I seemed to be doing nothing buy buying stuff – for a trip where you must take as little as possible.  The irony was not lost on me).

Homework at the ready (not the type of homework I’d anticipated) I started reading this book, hoping to finish in time for the April trip to St Brides where we would begin our training in earnest…..